Feeding The Fury
by The Cat's Whiskers
Summary: Tom Paris discovers B'Elanna is having an affair with the worst person she could have picked, Chakotay. But not everything is as it seems...
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 1**

Tom Paris ducked through the hatch at the junction of the upper gantry leading to Upper Cargo Bays 1 & 2; it was quiet down here, the semi-gloom making it positively restful, and above all, it was one place where he could smell nothing of Neelix's slow-cooking Elbarak Casserole. That was the trouble with the Delta Quadrant; you just couldn't get a happy medium. Elbarak Casserole was, in fact, extremely delicious, but unfortunately the 'active ingredient' was a foul-smelling fungus that had to be slow-cooked for 72 hours in the mixture…at least unless you _wanted_ to end up in Sick Bay twisting like a pretzel in searing agony.

Still, he grinned - he had just spent an hour cleaning the warp plasma manifolds…and couldn't be chirpier. Harry owed him monumentally for this, and Tom had already collected by appropriating Harry's Holodeck booking for that Alpine skiing program that was right after his own booking. He was also going skiing, but his holodeck time was going to be a more intimate affair. B'Elanna enjoyed skiing, true, but after a couple of runs, Tom intended to introduce her to the real fun of _après-ski_; roaring log fire, bearskin rug, a nice bottle of Chateau Rothschild '79…

"It's wrong!"

He jerked back to the present from removing B'Elanna's blouse at the cry. Tom listened intently, but heard nothing even after several moments. He hesitated; had he imagined the noise? It was possible; humans in silent, spooky areas like deserted cargo bays did tend to start over-imagining things.

It had sounded like B'Elanna though and her voice had not been scolding or chastising but…_anguished_? After listening again but hearing silence, Tom nevertheless began to move towards Cargo Bay 1. If there was nothing there then there was only himself to see him look foolish, but they were forging through a completely uncharted part of the galaxy, and all too often the little things you thought you could ignore had a nasty habit of coming back to bite you in the ass like a rabid Targ.

Even though he couldn't hear anything now, he cautiously made his way along the gantry toward the Cargo Bay, ensuring he kept as quiet as possible and hoping he was merely suffering from an over-active imagination; but if there had been an undetected alien incursion, he would need to sound the alarm.

Easing through the hatch of the upper left gantry, he assured himself that he was invisible in the black shadows cast upon this section. The shuttles were present and correct, silent and dark, as were the racks of Neelix's supplies. There was nothing that seemed untoward but as he strained his ears he could hear faint, indeterminable sounds.

Cautiously he checked again and saw a figure in silhouette in the faint available light; a clearly _female_ silhouette. She moved slightly, revealing her profile – B'Elanna. Tom moved forward instinctively at her strange stance but stopped dead as a shadow moved and he saw that B'Elanna was _embracing_ someone.

Taller than her; too deep in the shadows to identify; B'Elanna was once again anonymous as she and the man kissed passionately. For some reason Tom found himself unable to make his legs move and vaguely realised he was in shock; there could be no mistake, not when blobs of hands cupped her buttocks to pull her against the larger shadow in an unmistakable gesture of carnal intent and when she responded with that characteristic Klingon growl-purr of pleasure that she vocalised during their love-making. Tom was aware of a buzzing in his ears and a tiny, ignored voice warned that he could well fall off the gantry if he didn't get it together.

Abruptly however, the shadow convulsed and B'Elanna pulled away, back towards the doors, raising both hands to grip her hair in agitation. "We can't go on like this! It's wrong and you know it. We have to stop."

"No," Chakotay moved forward, catching her arm, his face an abstract of harsh planes and angles in the dimness. His voice was tight with strain, "I need you."

"Chakotay," she half-sobbed his name, "You think I don't? But…"

"Tom is my _friend_; do you think I don't hate myself?" Chakotay almost snarled the words but then he pulled her against him, fisting one hand in her hair as he kissed her ravenously, making her hiss with pleasure as he fondled her breast with the other. "But I need you too much…B'Elanna…now, in the shuttle, like last time – I need to taste you, to be inside you…"

She swayed towards him but pulled herself back, "I'm supposed to be in engineering, Vorik will be coming looking any minute…but soon…I want you, Chakotay…"

Part of Tom realised he was very lucky to land without breaking one or both of his legs as he simply vaulted the gantry rail and hit the Cargo Bay floor, but they were too startled to react and by then he was on them; he dimly heard B'Elanna cry out as he flung her aside and Chakotay wasn't fast enough to deflect the blow that broke his jaw. Tom gave him no quarter as he stumbled back, raining down blows with fists and feet again and again and again until sheer exhaustion left him panting and shaking above Chakotay's body. His hands throbbed and as he looked at them he realised they were a deep red colour. Chakotay lay unmoving, his features unrecognisable, his body battered to pulp. B'Elanna was kneeling a few feet away, her chalk-white face spattered with a few droplets of blood, staring at Tom with horror.

A soft hiss impinged on his awareness and he came to himself to find that he was alone; the Cargo Bay doors were just closing. Chakotay and B'Elanna were both gone, and he was still standing on the gantry.

_Continued in chapter 2…_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 2**

… "_the proof of the pudding is in the eating!_" Tom, Harry, B'Elanna, and Chakotay chorused the punch-line of the joke together to Neelix.

As the Talaxian hurried back to the kitchen as more hungry crewmembers came into the Mess Hall, Tom laughed along as he ate his Jbalian fudge-cake, silently almost admiring the treacherous pair. Not by the flicker of an eyelash had they betrayed themselves – it was almost enough to make him doubt what his eyes had seen, except that his imagination would never conjure up any image of B'Elanna in the carnal embrace of another man.

Chakotay's life _belonged_ to him, what if he was to simply _order_ the bastard to commit suicide? It wasn't enough. He didn't want Chakotay to take the tragically noble way out of this, destroyed by a doomed love that could never be, he wanted to break every bone in the man's body and drop his bloody pulp of a corpse at B'Elanna's feet. Let's see how much she had the hots for Chakotay _then_…

_The proof of the pudding_…the phrase echoed in his head and he veiled his eyes by lowering them to the confection on his plate. That was the necessity if he was to expose their betrayal, their treachery…his lover and his supposed friend. It was his word against theirs and a vehement accusation of their adultery would play right into their hands. All they had to was deny everything, and Tom Paris would be the scorned obsessive villain of the piece. B'Elanna could leave him in 'offence' and after letting things lie a few weeks the pair of them could come together openly and pass it off by making jokes about how they would never have realised their attraction if it weren't for 'that loser Paris'.

What was it they used to do in the old gumshoe movies? Incriminating photographs - but not possible in this instance. The only person aboard who had a holographic imager was the Doctor, understandable since neither the Starfleet crew nor the Maquis had had any intention of taking souvenir snaps of their quick trip through the Badlands. Asking the Doctor to borrow it so he could obtain evidence against his unfaithful lover was out, and replicating one would be a waste of rations.

But suddenly Tom felt a tiny surge of doubt. He looked at B'Elanna's beautiful face and Chakotay grinning as they teased Harry about being Buster Kincaid, Captain Proton's sidekick. Was he about to destroy everything by over-reacting? Was it possible he had misinterpreted what he'd seen? Maybe B'Elanna and Chakotay had just suffered a moment's weakness that wouldn't be repeated? Maybe he should think things through…

No – his anger surged anew, more powerfully than before. B'Elanna and Chakotay had betrayed him. Were betraying his love and his trust, and they were going be begging at his feet for mercy before he was finished with them!

_Continued in Chapter 3…_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 3**

Tom hissed with the pain, mentally castigating himself as he realised he was so wound up that he'd bitten his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Running his tongue over the tiny wound he again checked the time index on the _Voyager _computer's wall display. It was 5.27 minutes since he'd left Holodeck 2 and whatever he decided he shouldn't be standing in this main corridor where he could be seen by any crewmember who passed by! Glancing around to ensure nobody was imminently approaching, he quickly opened the hatch into the Jefferies Tube and climbed inside.

All he had to do was climb up the ladder and take the first left and it would take him straight to hydroponics. Yet again, however, Tom found himself torn by indecision.

If B'Elanna and Chakotay were having an illicit affair, they would have secret rendezvous. Extremely _good_ secret meetings, considering that apparently nobody on _Voyager_ was yet clued in that anything was going on despite the fact that around this place there was usually a time lapse of about 2½ minutes between someone having a secret and the farthest corner of deck 15 knowing all about it.

In the week since what he had witnessed in the Cargo Bay, he had endured a constant see-saw of emotions, but rage had been paramount, the one thing Tom had been unable to get past. His sleep was tormented by fragmented dreams of B'Elanna and Chakotay together and every second at the Con was an eternity of endurance as he constantly battled the urge to simply swing around in his chair and smash his fist into Chakotay's jaw. Being the Con Officer meant that everyone else on the Bridge was situated 'behind' you, but he had known whenever Chakotay had moved anywhere near him because his skin had literally crawled with prickles of fury. He couldn't go on like this – something had to give and if he wasn't careful, it would be him. He had to _know_, for sure.

It had taken Tom hours of almost second-by-second comparison of Chakotay and B'Elanna's respective duty rosters to locate two 'windows of opportunity' wherein Chakotay and B'Elanna would be able to each sneak a few minutes away from their respective duty stations. But the first window had been a living hell, since it had occurred right in the middle of Tom's duty shift. At the Con he had felt physically sick as Chakotay walked off the Bridge and it had taken all his willpower to carry out the simplest of his station's functions. Fortunately the duty shift hadn't consisted of anything more complex than piloting _Voyager_ in a straight line at Warp 8, since that region of space had been devastated by a super-nova at some point and anything either interesting or useful had been obliterated. What planetary bodies had survived intact had been flash-fried into barren lumps of rock; no vegetation, no water, no useful minerals or ore or sentient species had survived the destruction.

This was the second window of opportunity that the two of them could utilise – in theory. Tom realised that he had probably wasted another five minutes stood here in the gloom of the Jefferies Tube dithering, but…an almost minute-by-minute check of the _last_ 'window' had shown that Chakotay had gone to the Mess Hall and stayed there, while B'Elanna had never left engineering. But there had been sudden fluctuations in the plasma coils that B'Elanna had sorted out. What if they had some prearranged code that they exchanged if they were forced to cancel an assignation at short notice?

However, on this occasion the timing was perfect – as was their mutual proximity to an ideal place for a rendezvous with your illicit lover: hydroponics. Easily the most boring place on board (plants were not the most riveting conversationalists and there was no way to make turnips a fascinating subject of debate), hydroponics was never frequented by anyone other than Neelix and occasionally his goddaughter Naomi in 'little chef' mode. Deserted and with plenty of shadowed nooks and crannies. If _Tom _had been cheating on B'Elanna, it was the rendezvous _he_ would have chosen.

But when he'd left Holodeck 2 ten minutes ago, the computer had confirmed that Chakotay was on Deck 4, nowhere near hydroponics, which meant that checking hydroponics was a wild goose chase. But Tom couldn't overcome the urge to go and have a look for himself, just to make sure, even as he acknowledged his own paranoia. However, it would be another three weeks before their three duty rotas – his, B'Elanna and Chakotay's – were 'synchronised' like this again where he could monitor another 'window of opportunity', and also where Harry's duty rota kept him out of the way.

Intending to double-check Chakotay's whereabouts, Tom tapped his chest in auto-reflex, but of course nothing happened. That galvanised him and he began to climb up the Jefferies Tube, grunting softly with effort despite his gym workouts/competitions with Lt Walter Baxter. He had booked an hour's Holodeck time commencing at the end of his duty shift. Since Harry would be on the Bridge for another couple of hours yet, Tom had had an excuse not to run _Captain Proton_, instead selecting a generic, basic Alpine skiing program that he had been able to leave running on its own. The big bad of leaving behind his com badge on the Holodeck so a the computer would register _him_ as being in the Holodeck while he made a discreet exit to come down here had been a calculated risk. He could only hope that the Delta Quadrant's next batch of whatever bad guys didn't decide to launch an attack within the next three quarters of an hour until he could go back and retrieve the badge.

He found the entrance and began to crawl along the Jefferies Tube. All he had to do was check out hydroponics and once his own paranoid eyes saw there was nothing there, he could relax. It was unlikely that Chakotay would be able to come up with any plausible reason to go from Deck 4 to Hydroponics in the space of ten minutes.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Tom looked at the hatch that opened out onto the upper workman's gantry. Carefully he eased it open and wriggled through, but didn't stand up. Unlike the Cargo Bay, the only other access to this high gantry was via a ladder situated just inside the hydroponics bay doors, clearly visible to any casual glance. Apart from this small square footage of space, shadowed by a bulkhead, most of the gantry was bathed in bright light and was composed of a nastily echoing metal. Unless he was careful he might as well take out five minutes on Neelix's _Good Morning Voyager_ to announce his presence.

Crouching down, Tom stretched his body forward so he was lying on his stomach on the gantry, and peered down at the assorted flora. True to his guess, the hydroponics bay seemed singularly deserted of personnel; understandable unless you found the growth cycle of cucumbers riveting. He couldn't see anyone, but trying to determine anything by relying on his ears was an exercise in futility. The hum of the artificial solar emitters for the green plants was constant, as was the soft _bip-bip_ of the humidity gauges and the soft _sh-sh_ of the moisture sprinklers on the seed beds. Relatively speaking hydroponics was as noisy as the Bridge; Chakotay and B'Elanna could be declaiming their lust for each other at a decibel level close to that of a Klingon aria and he might not be able to hear them.

Using his elbows and hips – how did frontline female military personnel _do_ this without bruising vital anatomy? – Tom crawled forward over the metal slats of the gantry walkway to get a better view of the room below, but it seemed genuinely deserted…

Wait, a flash of colour? Red? Tom risked raising his head slightly and having another look…Neelix was experimenting with edible flowering plants – those roses were peach…the geraniums were pink…but red?...

They were in a slight alcove right at the back of hydroponics, shielded by luxuriant date-palm type miniature trees that effectively screened them off from anyone who might decide to walk in and get an eyeful as they passionately embraced – but not anyone who was looking _down_, say from the workman's gantry.

B'Elanna pulled back and stood up jerkily, almost hugging herself self-protectively. "I need to get back to engineering; I'll be missed."

Chakotay moved to grasp her upper arms with his own hands, "Just one more minute." He ordered/pleaded.

They kissed once more, lingeringly, before jumping apart guiltily as the moisture sprinklers beeped to indicate a change in setting. Tom flattened himself against the walkway of the gantry until he was sure they were both gone, before sitting up. Moving rapidly he crawled back through the Tube and down the shaft, going so fast that he banged his shins on the ladder rungs and was panting heavily by the time he managed to get out and get back to Holodeck 2, which had seven minutes of the program left to run. Hurrying inside as he heard the voices of Lt Ayala and Ensign Gerron, who had booked it next, Tom scooped up his com badge and attached it back to his uniform in the customary upper right section of his torso.

So now he knew.

_Continued in Chapter 4…_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 4**

Chakotay had no time to react as Tom shoved him in the small of his back; he stumbled forward into the airlock and Tom hit the override commands even as the door shut behind him. Chakotay didn't even have to time to realise what was happening as the outer hatch opened and he was sucked into the vacuum of space.

"…and after she assimilated me the Borg Queen jumped my bones and we had mad, passionate sex on the floor of the Borg Cube."

Tom snapped back into it as his mind processed what had just been said. "What?"

"That's _my_ line," Harry Kim scolded from where he was sat across from Tom in the Mess Hall. "A minute ago when I said I'd converted to neo-Fascism and you were to henceforth address me as Mein Fuhrer, you said, "Okay." After that when I explained how I was really Count Dracula and I was about to sink my fangs into your jugular and drain you as dry as a Ferengi's generosity, you went, "Mmm." Call it intuition if you will, but somehow I had this feeling you weren't listening to a word I said."

"Sorry, Harry, I was…daydreaming."

"You hid it well," Harry retorted with droll sarcasm, "…and no, you're not."

"Not what?"

"Making any more upgrades to the Delta Flyer yet; I can see new warp nacelles floating in your eyes. The way you coo and drool over that thing it's a good job B'Elanna's an engineer and equally as interested, else she'd be jealous."

Tom felt his fingers twitch and had to consciously unclench their grip from his spoon before he snapped it in half. B'Elanna wasn't jealous of the Delta Flyer, she didn't have _time_ to be and certainly not the _energy_ when she had two men f-

"Tom!" Harry clucked his tongue as his friend looked likely to drift off into dreamland again. "Look, I'm your best friend and like all the greatest sidekicks I know the importance of knowing when to leave the hero to his brooding. Of course your ugly mug has also got no chance against the fact I'm taking Meghan Delaney to Maui in five minutes on Holodeck 1, so I'll leave you and the Flyer alone. Just try to remember and eat your stew before it gets cold. _Aloha_." Grinning at Tom's glare, Harry left the table and exited the Mess Hall with a jaunty wave.

Tom looked at the dish of Elbarak stew, and laid down his spoon, feeling suddenly sick. He had no wish to be reminded of what had happened on the day he'd sought to escape the cooking of this dish, it was there every time he closed his eyes along with that touching scene in hydroponics. It was a pity he couldn't split himself in two – half of him was wailing in anguish, wanting to throw himself at B'Elanna's feet and beg her not to leave him, whilst the other half was consumed by a murderous rage that relished in fantasising ever more brutal ways to kill Chakotay so the half-breed whore would be cowering at his feet begging him to take her back.

He didn't _want_ to shove Chakotay out of an airlock. He didn't want to exhaust his phaser's energy cell by emptying shot after shot into the man. Those things were too…distant. He wanted…the meteorological term was an 'impact event'…he wanted to feel the impact-shock of pleasure that would travel up his arm as he smashed his fist into Chakotay's face, then did it again and again. He wanted to feel the man's bones break when his boots made contact with Chakotay's ribs, he wanted the man battered and bloody at his feet.

He also didn't want to spend the rest of his life in the brig. Tuvok's faults did not include inefficiency and unintelligence and anyone with a passing acquaintance of the heavy Paris & Chakotay 'history' would not find it a quantum leap to determine a likely suspect for Chakotay's murder. If he did just cut the man down where he stood, he would be buried under a pile of Security Officers before he could take a step and there was an outside chance that Chakotay would survive even a close-range kill shot, or at least that the Doctor would manage to pull off the best resurrection since Lazarus.

Either way, all _B'Elanna_ had to do was scream and cry and deny everything; it would be her word against Tom's about her affair. It would take everyone all of ten seconds to compare diligent, dedicated, hard-working Chakotay with cowardly, treacherous drunk Tom Paris and pick who they believed the most. On deep space missions that lasted long periods of time from home, Starfleet Captains possessed the legal right to execute a felon for specific high crimes such as treason, mutiny and murder. If _Voyager's_ current predicament didn't qualify as the ultimate deep space mission nothing would, and murdering one of the ship's Senior Command Staff technically carried a maximum sentence of death. Starfleet Regulations stated that he could be 'executed by firing squad on the vessel's Bridge', a gruesomely public end designed to impress on other malcontents the dangers of getting ideas above your station.

Even if Captain Janeway _didn't_ go for that option she could superficially decide on the 'clemency' of life imprisonment. It would be quite a while before people began to comprehend the subtle cruelty of forcing Tom Paris to spend the next sixty years or more living in a ten foot by ten foot square cell separated from any and all human contact by an energy barrier that never needed to be shut off. Each cell had sonic shower and latrine facilities and they could simply beam food and other items into and out of his cell, including the Doctor, who was impervious to attempts to take him a hostage.

There was a soft clunk and Tom looked down in irritation; he'd been nervously fiddling with his com badge to the extent he'd pulled it off his uniform. Reattaching the com badge he picked up the dish of now congealed stew preparatory to throwing it in the vaporiser when he paused as a thought struck him. Deliberately this time, Tom removed his com badge and looked at it in the palm of his hand as an idea began to germinate.

What he needed was an alibi, a way to be at Place A when the computer said he was at Place B, but it was too risky for many reasons to be without his com badge for longer than a few minutes at any one time; not for nothing was one of Starfleet's most stringent regulations and most severely punished infractions that of not having your com badge on your person or in your immediate vicinity at all times.

But the traitorous love birds had shown him the way; like a good little Starfleet toy Chakotay had been wearing his com badge in hydroponics, so what Tom needed to do was figure out how Chakotay had fooled the computer without having to resort to Tom's own risky strategy of abandoning his com badge on the Holodeck. That way he could lure Chakotay somewhere nice and quiet to dish out a fatal lesson in the perils of infidelity with the computer providing cast iron confirmation that he was on the other side of the ship at the time.

Closing his fist around the badge, he left the Mess Hall with a jaunty smile, to the relief of Neelix who had been concerned about his friend's previous grimness.

_Continued in Chapter 5…_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 5**

"Aagh!"

"Chakotay!" Tom uttered the cry as he stumbled, managing to place a boot in the man's stomach as he artfully fell into the wall but just a little too hard for comfort, "Oomph!"

"Commander! Tom! Chakotay! Lt Paris! Are you alright!"

Neither man was momentarily able to answer the cacophony of simultaneous exclamations as various concerned people converged on their position. Assuring Harry that he was only winded, Tom turned around, his attitude the very verisimilitude of apologetic concern, though inwardly he bubbled with vicious glee. It had taken several minutes of inconspicuously loitering with intent before Chakotay had got a hot drink from Neelix and Tom was able to accidentally 'hurry' towards the Mess Hall exit too fast and crash full into the man. Even as Chakotay painfully got to his feet, the skin of the hand holding his stomach was blistering from the scalding coffee.

"Where's the fire, Paris?" Chakotay wheezed, scrunching up his face in pain.

"Chakotay –"

"No harm done," Chakotay waved away their concern.

"Your hand," Tom pointed out with faked solicitousness.

"It'll only take a minute in sick bay. It's alright, Tom."

Tom managed to make a solo getaway as Harry, in full Ensign Eager mode, whisked Chakotay off to sick bay to get the burn tended to. Once in the corridor, however, his sheepish expression dissolved into one of flinty anger. The few seconds of spiteful satisfaction gained from his actions had gone leaving a hollow feeling of discontent. Chakotay hadn't even given him the pleasure of overreacting to the incident with harshness thus allowing Tom to go into his 'martyred innocent' routine.

He entered his quarters, locking the doors behind him moodily and flung himself on the couch, glaring at the computer on the coffee table and angrily wanting to throw it against a wall. He had tried long into the night for _days_ to winkle out just _how_ Chakotay had pulled off his 'in two places at once' stunt to no avail. He growled in frustration; it was so hard to batten down his rage all the time. It took all his willpower just to be civil to Chakotay. It was a good job that he rarely had occasion to interact with Crewwoman Jurot, as _Voyager's_ last surviving Betazoid would be able to pick up his homicidal impulses a parsec away at this rate.

He activated the diagnostic/search program again in irritation, consigning Jurot to…

Tom hesitated as he was about to press a command key, a memory resurfacing in his mind, of another Betazoid crewmember, Lon Sudor. Unlike Jurot and the late Lt Stadi, _Voyager's_ original Helmswoman inadvertently killed by the Caretaker, Sudor had been Maquis, which was why his incomplete medical files contained no warning of psychopathic neuropathy. In a way, Seska's invasion of _Voyager_ had been the best thing that ever happened to Sudor, allowing him to die a hero's death instead of being confined to the brig for seventy years as a murderous nut-job.

Tom stared at the program waiting patiently on the screen to be reactivated. Betazoids were telepaths and empaths, but they could also _transmit_ as well as receive. Tom shook his head irritably – fanciful nonsense, Jurot had no beef with him, and if she had why wait for four years to begin some game of slow torture?

Nevertheless, he leaned forward and on impulse, carefully began to change the program's diagnostic and search parameters…

_Continued in Chapter 6_…

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 6**

"That's it!" Harry gripped Tom's upper arm with undue firmness and began to pull him along.

"What? Where are we going?"

"Sick Bay!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

Harry stopped abruptly. "You tell me. For the past week you've been away with the fairies! I have to ask you the simplest questions twice; two days ago Buster Kincaid was brutally murdered by Chaotica because Captain Proton forgot to show up in time to save his faithful sidekick –"

"I said sorry!"

"That's not my point." Harry chided him. "People are starting to notice that you're distracted. On the Bridge you're the very model of decorum and we're all bored stiff by it. It's got to the point where Chakotay is deliberately trying to get a rise out of you just to get a reaction and the Captain's worried enough to sit there and let him."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not." Harry contradicted. "You're body's present and correct but your brain is AWOL. B'Elanna says it's like talking to a ghost and you haven't tried to grab a quick grope in engineering for a week. She's starting to get paranoid that you've found someone else."

_Wouldn't that be the biter bit?_ Tom momentarily shut out Harry's scolding prattle by concentrating his focus on a familiar image before his Mind's Eye, a fantasy of him killing Chakotay. At once he was infused with sweet rage, an almost distilled fury.

Tom knew what to do now, and more importantly, how to do it. It was time to stop planning and take action. He cut off Harry's diatribe, "Harry, I'm fine. I'm not going to Sick Bay. Everything will be all right, you'll see."

Harry sighed and looked mutinous, but when push came to shove, he mostly gave ground to Tom's wishes, and this was no different. Muttering under his breath, he accompanied his friend and before long Tom had chivvied him into a good mood.

_Continued in Chapter 7…_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 7**

"Tuvok?" Captain Janeway queried.

"A Class J Nebula, Captain," Tuvok responded with his perpetual calm, "Nothing of interest."

"Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt," Chakotay muttered the old Earth saying at sufficient volume to raise a titter, most delighted as always when his Captain grinned at the pun.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow but instead said, "However, there is a lot of ion activity at the leading edge of the nebula that it would be prudent to avoid."

"Right," Chakotay agreed, "Tom alter our heading by 10.7 –" the ship moved slightly under his feet as with a casually airy "'Aye'" of acknowledgement, Tom flawlessly put them on the new heading that Chakotay had wanted…

…and hadn't had the chance to finish requesting. They continued on for several minutes – ten, twenty, thirty. This section of space, however, seemed to be the epitome of cosmic _déjà vu_. It contained nothing they hadn't already seen and nothing of use in sufficient quantities to make a detour worthwhile.

But Chakotay was extremely nervous, and he knew it had nothing to do with what was outside the ship. He was half-convinced that Tom Paris was becoming part-Betazoid. Either that or some freaky psychic link was forming between them. Paris seemed hyper-aware of his every twitch and for the past half-dozen duty shifts had demonstrated an accurate anticipation of Chakotay's wishes that had gone through uncanny to downright scary. Chakotay exchanged a glance with Captain Janeway and her eyes showed her agreement; at this rate he would only need to flick one eyelash and Tom Paris would be implementing his commands before he'd even thought them.

At the helm, Tom Paris smiled in the knowledge none of those behind him could see his savage grin. _Come on, Chakotay_, he formed the thought clearly in his head, letting the anger flood unchecked through veins and sinews, _all I need is for you to come a little bit closer. I've had enough; damn the brig, damn Captain Janeway and her execution permissions. I'm going to hit you hard enough to snap your neck right here and right now…come on, get up and walk up behind me…_

At that moment, Tuvok spoke, his voice incredibly carrying perhaps a hint of pleasure at having something of faint interest to report, "Captain, I am detecting a faint anomalous energy signature in the vicinity of _Voyager_."

"Source?" the Captain asked.

"Indeterminable." Tuvok checked his instruments, "It is extremely faint and intermittent…it is highly unlikely to be anything more than spatial background noise."

"Still…" she mused. "Chakotay?"

"Is it in visual range?" Chakotay asked.

"Affirmative," Tuvok changed the angle of the view screen, but there were only stars ahead.

"Magnify." Chakotay stood up and moved a few steps forward, but there was still nothing to see. "Try maximum magnification." He stepped forward again and to one side, so as not to make Tom uncomfortable by breathing down his neck -

Tom suddenly surged up out of his chair and lunged past Chakotay, shouldering the other man aside; he slammed his hand down on the console and the pulse wave activated; the ship didn't jolt but the flash of the pulse momentarily blinded everyone on the Bridge including even partially Tom who had had his eyes closed the entire time.

Not to worry, he had integrated an automatic Force 7 containment field into the pulse wave command to form around his calculation of the alien's position, and hopefully…

"Intruder alert," announced Tuvok as if delivering the weather report, ignoring his own teary eyes and smoothly aiming his phaser at the left-hand vertical rim of the view-screen, where a suddenly visible tall, leathery-skinned alien creature hissed malevolently at Paris.

It looked vaguely like an alligator on legs; Tom didn't give a damn as he aimed his own phaser at it. His though, was set to 'kill'. "Gotcha!"

"What are you?" Captain Janeway demanded of the creature sharply, outwardly unfazed by the sudden turn of developments on her Bridge.

It hissed again, ignoring her utterly as its angry eyes glared at Tom. "You managed to expose me, then. How extraordinary for such a primitive being…"

"You did it to yourself," mocked Tom, his phaser never wavering, "You're some kind of emotional _vampire_. You project hallucinations to provoke extreme emotions in your victims and then feed off those feelings."

"Close enough," the alien agreed, "though I find it incredible that a species as backward as yours could have seen through my hunting mechanism."

"Well a word of advice for future reference," Tom retorted, "arrogance and stupidity are not a good combination."

The creature hissed again, spittle gathering at the corners of its mouth as it snarled in rage; it was toothless with vestigial gums, indicating that its species probably only 'ingested' emotions, instead of feeding on physical nutrients.

Ignoring the display, Tom goaded, "Me seeing B'Elanna and Chakotay together in Cargo Bay One enraged me beyond reason; liked that didn't you? But your little attempt to feed my fury in hydroponics overplayed your hand."

"Lt Paris, explain?" Captain Janeway demanded.

"Long story short, Captain: this…creature…knew I was checking on B'Elanna and Chakotay, so it projected a hallucination of them together in hydroponics. But your hallucinations had com badges on, and I'd already checked with the computer that Chakotay was on Deck 4 at the time," Tom taunted the alien, "once I started_ thinking_ instead of _reacting_ it was obvious that either Chakotay had come up with an undetectable way to fool the computer as to his whereabouts –"

"Unlikely," Tuvok commented with no discernible concern over the current situation.

"- or else what I'd seen _wasn't_ real." Tom ignored the interruption as he focussed his whole attention on the alien. "Which made me start to wonder who or what could want me in such a state of uncontrolled fury? Once I started fantasising about ever more brutal ways to kill both of them for their adultery I realised someone was trying to artificially _magnify _my feelings of rage and vengefulness. Could that someone have also _instigated_ them? Crewman Jurot is now the only living Betazoid on _Voyager_ to generate those kind of empathic impulses, and since she's no Lon Sudor, that someone was far more likely to be some kind of alien intruder."

"Similar to that telepathic pitcher-plant thing," muttered Harry.

"Very clever," sneered the alien. "Pity, your rage was truly immense in magnitude when you believed your mate was faithless to you with the other male of your kind. You would have been delicious and nourishing for many days. Still, perhaps we'll see another time…"

"I don't think so." Tom denied flatly. "You see, there's an extremely important difference between me and him," he gestured towards Chakotay with his free hand without ever taking his eyes off the creature, "that you _didn't _take into account. You see, as soon as I actually thought about it, I knew what I was seeing had to be fake, because Chakotay has a lot of pesky principles and ethics that often make him very irritating…but which also stop him being a liar and a cheat and a traitor." He raised the phaser to point directly at the alien's head, his eyes turning to chips of pale blue ice set in a hard-jawed face, "Chakotay is a man of honour and integrity, while I on the other hand am a lying, cheating, unscrupulous, amoral bastard who has no qualm about simply killing you – _right now_."

"Tom!" Janeway exclaimed.

The alien's eyes widened as it hissed and jerked to one side in anticipation, but Tom just smirked as it collided with the containment field barrier and was halted. As he had intended, it was just one giant fish in a barrel.

"Captain," Tuvok declared, "I believe emitting a high-resonance Polaron pulse on wide-spectrum dispersal would be sufficient to drive the alien entity from within the ship." He paused and then added with perhaps just a soupcon of warmth in his voice, "It would, however cause the entity considerable physical pain in the process."

"Tom," Chakotay urged quietly, his tone strangely pleading, "you're better than this."

"'Considerable physical pain'?" Tom repeated the phrase slowly.

"Indeed," Tuvok confirmed. "I would categorise it as probably excruciating."

For an eternal heartbeat nobody moved; Tom found his whole focus had narrowed down to his finger on the phaser's fire button. All he had to do was twitch, but… "I can live with that," he decided, smiling cockily at the alien.

As the words left his mouth, Captain Janeway made a gesture and Tuvok pressed the command key. Another flash enveloped the bridge and the alien let out a high-pitched shriek of rage and pain before it abruptly disappeared.

Tom realised that his arm was trembling and then a bronze hand plucked the phaser from his own freckled one and turned it off. His eyes a mystery, Chakotay handed the phaser back and stepped away as Tom automatically grasped the object, consciously absorbing for the first time that he had been about to simply cut the creature down regardless of whether it was armed or not.

As if the action had been silent permission the Bridge tableau was broken. Seven stepped forward, "I will re-modulate Voyager's shields to continuously emit a low-level Polaron particle wave whilst we traverse this sector. They should be unpleasant enough to repel any more of the entity's species who might otherwise consider Voyager's crew to be a food source."

_Continued in Chapter 8…_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Chapter 8**

The atmosphere in the senior staff conference room was tense, bordering on the uncomfortable.

Tom had briefly described what he'd seen and how, once he'd realised an undetected alien was generating the hallucinations to provoke an extreme emotional reaction, he had come up with a plan to snare the entity. He explained how he'd been concerned as to just how much the alien could 'read' him and so had not brought his suspicions to anyone else, passing off the scalding incident in the Mess Hall as a genuine accident caused by his distraction as to how to best counter the infiltration by an invisible enemy. Tom related how he'd deliberately broadcast his 'intent' to kill Chakotay there and then to lure the alien to the Bridge so as not to miss the bumper feast of emotions that would be unleashed by such an attack; he'd activated the confinement field pulse from the Con while the alien was off guard, expecting him to jump up and attack Chakotay instead.

The uptight body language of those assembled was thus perfectly understandable, but Captain Janeway decided it was best to move things along rapidly. "Seven, was the Polaron wave effective?"

"Yes, Captain," the ex-Borg confirmed, "emitting the Polaron particles enabled Lt Tuvok and I to recalibrate Voyager's sensor array. We located a number of very small and previously undetectable ships heading in our direction, but when we emitted the Polaron wave, they turned about and headed back towards a G-type star system."

"So there were more of these…emotional vampires on the way," Harry muttered.

"Indeed," commented Tuvok, "and given the emotional volatility of the human species, their depredations amongst the crew would have been dire."

Ignoring her long-time friend's comment with the ease of long practice, though she saw Harry roll his eyes, Captain Janeway instead said, "What we mean to say is thank-you, Mr Paris. Were it not for you, we would be in a great deal of trouble about now…"

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "I wish I could I say it was all down to intuitive brilliance on my part but I was just being honest when I told the alien it overplayed it's hand. It didn't fail because I was clever enough to figure it out, it was just arrogantly stupid."

"How so?" enquired Seven of Nine, raising her eyebrow in a manner similar to Tuvok.

Tom shrugged. "I've been on the receiving end of infidelity before, and sure I was angry, but I was also hurt and confused and forced to examine how I could have contributed to the situation. I have to admit on one occasion I'd been neglectful and taking the woman in question for granted. When I thought B'Elanna…I was furious but whenever I attempted to cool down and try to think about maybe talking things out with B'Elanna I was just swamped with feelings of murderous rage. Once I'd realised that wasn't natural I immediately thought of Betazoids, and since Crewman Jurot's a teddy-bear with no reason to have a homicidal vendetta against me, the next logical deduction was empathic alien of the not-nice variety."

"Nevertheless, you saved all our hides," Janeway emphasised.

"Mr Paris may have exceeded even that accomplishment, Captain," Tuvok stated at that point, making them all look at him in surprise.

"Oh, really?" She looked at Tom who was as clearly intrigued as everyone else by this commendation.

The Vulcan inclined his head towards Tom in a manner that veered dangerously close to approbation. "Due to Seven's recalibration of our sensors I also picked up two disparate vessels of unknown configuration that had apparently been tracking our progress for some time. They were on the very edge of sensor range. When we began emitting the Polaron wave, the small ships initially veered towards _their_ positions before turning back towards the G-type star system, as Seven has said. I ran a spectral analysis of the ships and was able to determine that both appeared to have suddenly begun emitting Polaron particle waves. I would submit that the secret is out of how to neutralise the threat of the empathic aliens, thanks to Lt Paris."

"I want you to keep emitting the wave continuously until we're well past that G-type star system," Janeway ordered. "If that's everything…?"

"Lt Paris, I am curious," said Seven as she paused in the act of rising from her chair.

"About?" Tom asked.

"Would you have cut down the alien creature if Lt Tuvok had not had a method of forcing it to immediately leave the ship?"

There was an absolute silence; Tom was aware of the way B'Elanna kept her gaze on his face, as if to monitor for the slightest hint of dissembling; they were _all_ watching his reaction intently.

"I'd like to think that I wouldn't have…but I know myself too well." He looked at them all sombrely. "In all honesty, I don't know. The Tom Paris that was sprung from New Zealand penal colony to come on this ride would certainly have had no hesitation in killing it, unarmed or not, but I'm not that Tom Paris anymore, which, all things considered, is probably a good thing."

"I see," Seven nodded sharply in the manner which indicated she would mull over his statement for quite some time.

"Dismissed," Captain Janeway excused them all, but she did not immediately get up and return to the Bridge, instead taking a deep breath.

It had been a close run thing, _too _close. Those empathic aliens could and would have wreaked havoc had it not been for Tom Paris and a large dollop of pure luck. If the aliens had 'read' her own carefully concealed emotions and starting projecting mass hallucinations of her kissing and embracing Chakotay all over the ship, the consequences would have been catastrophic.

It was even possible that the aliens would have been even more sophisticated and projected hallucinations such as Naomi Wildman in danger or dying, which would have caused a massive emotional response from the entire ship's complement. There was not a member of the entire crew, including Seven, who would not undertake any necessary measure to protect the only child born on Voyager to date.

It was fortunate that Tom Paris had retained enough rationality to know something was wrong, and to recognise Chakotay's general decency of character made it highly unlikely he would engage in such reprehensible behaviour regardless of the fact that the two men occasionally still clashed on certain points – in fact she strongly suspected both of them secretly rather enjoyed their wittily acerbic exchanges and ongoing game of subterfuges and counter-ploys; Kes had once claimed that half the time Tom Paris undertook some harebrained scam simply because he knew how happy it made Chakotay to 'find him out'.

She permitted herself one loud, wistful sigh, for she knew how jealous she herself was whenever Chakotay showed a romantic interest in a woman, regardless of the fact that as long as she was _Captain_ Janeway and he was _First Officer_ Chakotay any personal relationship was impossible and indeed would be deeply damaging to _Voyager's _chances of making it home intact. Had she been in Tom Paris's place, she doubted she could have shown such restraint…

_Concluded in Epilogue_

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart


	9. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: Voyager and all characters therein are the property of Americans who are not me. No infringement of copyright is intended._

This story is set approximately around Season 3-4, but no particular spoilers other than this happens before _Thirty Days_. Rating M/15 for mature themes. Thanks to **_Star Trek Voyager: Lower Decks _**for all factual/technical information pertaining to the layout of the _USS Voyager_, and _**Star Trek: Technobabble** _for the correct spelling of "Jefferies Tube".

**FEEDING THE FURY**

**Epilogue**

The console in the alcove beeped softly as B'Elanna adjusted the warp plasma flow. The few crewmembers on duty in the graveyard shift paid no attention as Chakotay entered with a datapad and went to her position, but a close observer would have noted the rigid tension in her posture as Chakotay ostensibly laid down the datapad and inclined his head as if they were having a quiet conversation.

For a moment neither spoke; then B'Elanna ground out, "It's over, Chakotay. It has to be…"

"I know…" his voice was soft with infinite regret but acceptance. "I don't think I've ever experienced such shame and self-disgust as I did on the Bridge when Tom told the entity I had _honour_ and_ integrity_. If Tom_ ever_ found out that seeing us together in the _Hydroponics _bay was the _only_ hallucination…"

"It takes two to tango, Chakotay," B'Elanna reminded him with bitter self-recrimination, but then she looked up at him, her eyes sad and longing. "I do love Tom, and it's about time I started acting like it, instead of being constantly ruled by my fears of losing those I love and trying to pre-emptively distance myself from the anticipated pain. Tom deserves more than me keeping him at arm's length even while claiming to love him because of my irrational fears of what _might_ happen; _you_ deserve more than to just be my back-up bed-mate plan because I'm too afraid to risk giving my all to Tom…and _I _deserve more than to be just your substitute for Kathryn Janeway."

"I know…" he looked sorrowfully down at the deck plate, admitting bleakly, "I've been sticking my head in the sand, but I have to accept the fact that as long as we are Captain and First Officer in the Delta Quadrant, there'll never be anything more between us than that, at least not if we have _any_ sense of personal responsibility and acceptance of moral obligation to get this crew safely home. I need to make a decision, one way or the other, instead of just avoiding…"

"Decision?"

"Whether to get over my feelings for…Kathryn…however long it takes and move on with my life with someone else, or to wait and hope and that we_ could_ have a future together if we get lucky enough to make it back to the Alpha Quadrant any time this decade."

B'Elanna raised her hand and laid it flat on his chest, feeling the sensation of his heart beating beneath her palm; it was an old gesture between them, poignantly familiar. "Chakotay, I do love you, and I think a part of me will always be _in_ love with you. But our time passed before we ever encountered _Voyager_. We would never have lasted in the long term and we both know it – we knew when we ended our affair the first time around; eventually you would have despised my volatility and I would have hated your placidity. I love Tom in a way I've never felt about anyone and nothing is more important to me than his happiness."

Chakotay lifted his hand and gently laid it over her own, brushing her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "I feel the same way about…her…even if all I can ever be is her second-in-command, then it's worth it to make her happy – and keep her safe as much as I'm able."

They were temporarily alone and unobserved; swiftly Chakotay and B'Elanna's lips met in a passionately desperate kiss, before they each stepped away from each other. Chakotay picked up the datapad and left engineering superficially as calmly as he'd entered it while B'Elanna continued to work resolutely at the console, and nobody was close enough to hear the way her breath hitched on soft sobs.

Almost.

Pain flared in his hand and Harry realised he was gripping the manifold spanner so hard it was digging deep grooves into his flesh. Right now he was never so regretful that he had always heeded his mother's warnings against procrastination and had decided to check the fluctuations in the plasma relays tonight instead of tomorrow morning; _Ensign Eager strikes again_.

He lay absolutely still for several moments after the soft rustlings below had disappeared. Only then did he begin to ease his way back along the Jefferies Tube, moving with a fraction of normal speed to ensure he made no noise. When he got to a junction he stopped, addressing to himself the question of _what_ was he going to do?

The immediate and certain answer that came back from his Id was that Tom Paris must never, ever know. In common with certain personality types of attractive men who had had a lot of women as paramours, when he finally_ had_ met the woman of his dreams, Tom hadn't just fallen hard so much as wildly plummeted. The sheer strength of his feelings towards B'Elanna were of an almost frightening intensity. Should Tom ever learn about B'Elanna and Chakotay's betrayal his devastation would be total, and it would precipitate a wild spiral of self-destructive behaviour that nothing and nobody would ever be able to pull him out of as Janeway, Harry and B'Elanna had managed to do when the careless, obdurate ex-convict swaggered onto _Voyager _hiding his hurt behind a devil-may-care façade of insouciant indifference.

By the same token, neither could anyone _else_ know. The Maquis had been part of the crew long enough now that most people had all but forgotten they were _not_ the original personnel in their positions, but if this were to become known, it would tear the crew apart psychologically; Chakotay and B'Elanna would be reviled and viewed with contempt instead of being respected and admired. The crew's chances of surviving to make it home to the Alpha Quadrant would go into freefall if they had to work under a First Officer and Chief Engineer that they despised. Captain Janeway herself would never _publicly_ treat them any differently, but in private her respect and admiration for both of her officers would be destroyed and any reciprocal romantic attachment she might presently feel for Chakotay would be annihilated never to be rekindled.

Besides, he himself was in no position to be throwing stones in this particular glasshouse. Although he'd loved Libby he'd been tempted to cheat on her once; as the overcrowded transport shuttle had pulled away leaving him on the platform, all the guilt about what he'd been about to do had come crashing down on him, but had it not been for that fluke preventing his treachery, he would have made his illicit rendezvous. He was not sufficiently without his own sin to be able to cast the first stone at B'Elanna and Chakotay. They weren't saints, but by the same token, they weren't evil incarnate either. Their illicit affair was a mistake that it was obvious both deeply regretted and were shamed by, and self-righteously exposing them to the hatred, contempt and scorn of everyone would only destroy a lot of people's lives and chances of happiness.

Making his decision, Harry began to shuffle along again. Fortunately, as he had discerned at a very young age, there were distinct advantages to being him. All his life he had found that being 'good old Harry' was a distinct plus; few had any inkling of the secrets he knew and kept behind his open, cheerful, innocent face. It was time for 'good old Harry' to add another secret to that mental compartment marked THIS NEVER HAPPENED: ACCESS DENIED.

© 2005, Catherine D. Stewart

NB: this has been mentioned to me as an "error" so I will explain; the customary form of address to a Lieutenant was/is "Mr" as well as by military rank of "Lt" (similarly medical doctors who reach the heady heights of being a surgeon were/are addressed by the honorific "Mr" instead of "Dr"). I have no idea why, but as far as military authenticity goes, there was nothing erroneous in Captain Janeway _et al_ referring to Tom (or anyone of Lieutenant rank) interchangeably as "Lt Paris" and "Mr Paris" as they did in episodes throughout the series.


End file.
